Book One: 1805 - Chapter XXVIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Prince Andrew was to leave next evening. The old prince, notaltering his routine, retired as usual after dinner. The littleprincess was in her sister-in-law's room. Prince Andrew in a travelingcoat without epaulettes had been packing with his valet in the roomsassigned to him. After inspecting the carriage himself and seeingthe trunks put in, he ordered the horses to be harnessed. Only thosethings he always kept with him remained in his room; a small box, alarge canteen fitted with silver plate, two Turkish pistols and asaber- a present from his father who had brought it from the siegeof Ochakov. All these traveling effects of Prince Andrew's were invery good order: new, clean, and in cloth covers carefully tied withtapes.

　　When starting on a journey or changing their mode of life, mencapable of reflection are generally in a serious frame of mind. Atsuch moments one reviews the past and plans for the future. PrinceAndrew's face looked very thoughtful and tender. With his hands behindhim he paced briskly from corner to corner of the room, lookingstraight before him and thoughtfully shaking his head. Did he feargoing to the war, or was he sad at leaving his wife?- perhaps both,but evidently he did not wish to be seen in that mood, for hearingfootsteps in the passage he hurriedly unclasped his hands, stoppedat a table as if tying the cover of the small box, and assumed hisusual tranquil and impenetrable expression. It was the heavy treadof Princess Mary that he heard.

　　"I hear you have given orders to harness," she cried, panting (shehad apparently been running), "and I did so wish to have anothertalk with you alone! God knows how long we may again be parted. Youare not angry with me for coming? You have changed so, Andrusha,"she added, as if to explain such a question.

　　She smiled as she uttered his pet name, "Andrusha." It was obviouslystrange to her to think that this stern handsome man should beAndrusha- the slender mischievous boy who had been her playfellow inchildhood.

　　"And where is Lise?" he asked, answering her question only by asmile.

　　"She was so tired that she has fallen asleep on the sofa in my room.Oh, Andrew! What a treasure of a wife you have," said she, sittingdown on the sofa, facing her brother. "She is quite a child: such adear, merry child. I have grown so fond of her."

　　Prince Andrew was silent, but the princess noticed the ironicaland contemptuous look that showed itself on his face.

　　"One must be indulgent to little weaknesses; who is free fromthem, Andrew? Don't forget that she has grown up and been educatedin society, and so her position now is not a rosy one. We should enterinto everyone's situation. Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner.*Think it must be for her, poor thing, after what she has been used to,to be parted from her husband and be left alone the country, in hercondition! It's very hard."

　　*To understand all is to forgive all.

　　Prince Andrew smiled as he looked at his sister, as we smile atthose we think we thoroughly understand.

　　"You live in the country and don't think the life terrible," hereplied.

　　"I... that's different. Why speak of me? I don't want any otherlife, and can't, for I know no other. But think, Andrew: for a youngsociety woman to be buried in the country during the best years of herlife, all alone- for Papa is always busy, and I... well, you know whatpoor resources I have for entertaining a woman used to the bestsociety. There is only Mademoiselle Bourienne...."

　　"I don't like your Mademoiselle Bourienne at all," said PrinceAndrew.

　　"No? She is very nice and kind and, above all, she's much to bepitied. She has no one, no one. To tell the truth, I don't need her,and she's even in my way. You know I always was a savage, and now ameven more so. I like being alone.... Father likes her very much. Sheand Michael Ivanovich are the two people to whom he is always gentleand kind, because he has been a benefactor to them both. As Sternesays: 'We don't love people so much for the good they have done us, asfor the good we have done them.' Father took her when she was homelessafter losing her own father. She is very good-natured, and my fatherlikes her way of reading. She reads to him in the evenings and readssplendidly."

　　"To be quite frank, Mary, I expect Father's character sometimesmakes things trying for you, doesn't it?" Prince Andrew askedsuddenly.

　　Princess Mary was first surprised and then aghast at this question.

　　"For me? For me?... Trying for me!..." said she.

　　"He always was rather harsh; and now I should think he's gettingvery trying," said Prince Andrew, apparently speaking lightly of theirfather in order to puzzle or test his sister.

　　"You are good in every way, Andrew, but you have a kind ofintellectual pride," said the princess, following the train of her ownthoughts rather than the trend of the conversation- "and that's agreat sin. How can one judge Father? But even if one might, whatfeeling except veneration could such a man as my father evoke? And Iam so contented and happy with him. I only wish you were all ashappy as I am."

　　Her brother shook his head incredulously.

　　"The only thing that is hard for me... I will tell you the truth,Andrew... is Father's way of treating religious subjects. I don'tunderstand how a man of his immense intellect can fail to see whatis as clear as day, and can go so far astray. That is the only thingthat makes me unhappy. But even in this I can see lately a shade ofimprovement. His satire has been less bitter of late, and there wasa monk he received and had a long talk with."

　　"Ah! my dear, I am afraid you and your monk are wasting yourpowder," said Prince Andrew banteringly yet tenderly.

　　"Ah! mon ami, I only pray, and hope that God will hear me.Andrew..." she said timidly after a moment's silence, "I have agreat favor to ask of you."

　　"What is it, dear?"

　　"No- promise that you will not refuse! It will give you no troubleand is nothing unworthy of you, but it will comfort me. Promise,Andrusha!..." said she, putting her hand in her reticule but not yettaking out what she was holding inside it, as if what she held werethe subject of her request and must not be shown before the requestwas granted.

　　She looked timidly at her brother.

　　"Even if it were a great deal of trouble..." answered Prince Andrew,as if guessing what it was about.

　　"Think what you please! I know you are just like Father. Think asyou please, but do this for my sake! Please do! Father's father, ourgrandfather, wore it in all his wars." (She still did not take outwhat she was holding in her reticule.) "So you promise?"

　　"Of course. What is it?"

　　"Andrew, I bless you with this icon and you must promise me you willnever take it off. Do you promise?"

　　"If it does not weigh a hundredweight and won't break my neck...To please you..." said Prince Andrew. But immediately, noticing thepained expression his joke had brought to his sister's face, herepented and added: "I am glad; really, dear, I am very glad."

　　"Against your will He will save and have mercy on you and bringyou to Himself, for in Him alone is truth and peace," said she in avoice trembling with emotion, solemnly holding up in both hands beforeher brother a small, oval, antique, dark-faced icon of the Saviourin a gold setting, on a finely wrought silver chain.

　　She crossed herself, kissed the icon, and handed it to Andrew.

　　"Please, Andrew, for my sake!..."

　　Rays of gentle light shone from her large, timid eyes. Those eyeslit up the whole of her thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Herbrother would have taken the icon, but she stopped him. Andrewunderstood, crossed himself and kissed the icon. There was a look oftenderness, for he was touched, but also a gleam of irony on his face.

　　"Thank you, my dear." She kissed him on the forehead and sat downagain on the sofa. They were silent for a while.

　　"As I was saying to you, Andrew, be kind and generous as youalways used to be. Don't judge Lise harshly," she began. "She is sosweet, so good-natured, and her position now is a very hard one."

　　"I do not think I have complained of my wife to you, Masha, orblamed her. Why do you say all this to me?"

　　Red patches appeared on Princess Mary's face and she was silent asif she felt guilty.

　　"I have said nothing to you, but you have already been talked to.And I am sorry for that," he went on.

　　The patches grew deeper on her forehead, neck, and cheeks. She triedto say something but could not. Her brother had guessed right: thelittle princess had been crying after dinner and had spoken of herforebodings about her confinement, and how she dreaded it, and hadcomplained of her fate, her father-in-law, and her husband. Aftercrying she had fallen asleep. Prince Andrew felt sorry for his sister.

　　"Know this, Masha: I can't reproach, have not reproached, andnever shall reproach my wife with anything, and I cannot reproachmyself with anything in regard to her; and that always will be so inwhatever circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know thetruth... if you want to know whether I am happy? No! Is she happy? No!But why this is so I don't know..."

　　As he said this he rose, went to his sister, and, stooping, kissedher forehead. His fine eyes lit up with a thoughtful, kindly, andunaccustomed brightness, but he was looking not at his sister but overher head toward the darkness of the open doorway.

　　"Let us go to her, I must say good-by. Or- go and wake and I'll comein a moment. Petrushka!" he called to his valet: "Come here, takethese away. Put this on the seat and this to the right."

　　Princess Mary rose and moved to the door, then stopped and said:"Andrew, if you had faith you would have turned to God and asked Himto give you the love you do not feel, and your prayer would havebeen answered."

　　"Well, may be!" said Prince Andrew. "Go, Masha; I'll comeimmediately."

　　On the way to his sister's room, in the passage which connectedone wing with the other, Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bouriennesmiling sweetly. It was the third time that day that, with an ecstaticand artless smile, she had met him in secluded passages.

　　"Oh! I thought you were in your room," she said, for some reasonblushing and dropping her eyes.

　　Prince Andrew looked sternly at her and an expression of angersuddenly came over his face. He said nothing to her but looked ather forehead and hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contemptthat the Frenchwoman blushed and went away without a word. When hereached his sister's room his wife was already awake and her merryvoice, hurrying one word after another, came through the open door.She was speaking as usual in French, and as if after longself-restraint she wished to make up for lost time.

　　"No, but imagine the old Countess Zubova, with false curls and hermouth full of false teeth, as if she were trying to cheat oldage.... Ha, ha, ha! Mary!"

　　This very sentence about Countess Zubova and this same laughPrince Andrew had already heard from his wife in the presence ofothers some five times. He entered the room softly. The littleprincess, plump and rosy, was sitting in an easy chair with her workin her hands, talking incessantly, repeating Petersburgreminiscences and even phrases. Prince Andrew came up, stroked herhair, and asked if she felt rested after their journey. She answeredhim and continued her chatter.

　　The coach with six horses was waiting at the porch. It was an autumnnight, so dark that the coachman could not see the carriage pole.Servants with lanterns were bustling about in the porch. The immensehouse was brilliant with lights shining through its lofty windows. Thedomestic serfs were crowding in the hall, waiting to bid good-by tothe young prince. The members of the household were all gathered inthe reception hall: Michael Ivanovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne,Princess Mary, and the little princess. Prince Andrew had beencalled to his father's study as the latter wished to say good-by tohim alone. All were waiting for them to come out.

　　When Prince Andrew entered the study the old man in his old-agespectacles and white dressing gown, in which he received no one buthis son, sat at the table writing. He glanced round.

　　"Going?" And he went on writing.

　　"I've come to say good-by."

　　"Kiss me here," and he touched his cheek: "Thanks, thanks!"

　　"What do you thank me for?"

　　"For not dilly-dallying and not hanging to a woman's apronstrings. The Service before everything. Thanks, thanks!" And he wenton writing, so that his quill spluttered and squeaked. "If you haveanything to say, say it. These two things can be done together," headded.

　　"About my wife... I am ashamed as it is to leave her on yourhands..."

　　"Why talk nonsense? Say what you want."

　　"When her confinement is due, send to Moscow for an accoucheur....Let him be here...."

　　The old prince stopped writing and, as if not understanding, fixedhis stern eyes on his son.

　　"I know that no one can help if nature does not do her work," saidPrince Andrew, evidently confused. "I know that out of a million casesonly one goes wrong, but it is her fancy and mine. They have beentelling her things. She has had a dream and is frightened."

　　"Hm... Hm..." muttered the old prince to himself, finishing whathe was writing. "I'll do it."

　　He signed with a flourish and suddenly turning to his son began tolaugh.

　　"It's a bad business, eh?"

　　"What is bad, Father?"

　　"The wife!" said the old prince, briefly and significantly.

　　"I don't understand!" said Prince Andrew.

　　"No, it can't be helped, lad," said the prince. "They're all likethat; one can't unmarry. Don't be afraid; I won't tell anyone, but youknow it yourself."

　　He seized his son by the hand with small bony fingers, shook it,looked straight into his son's face with keen eyes which seemed to seethrough him, and again laughed his frigid laugh.

　　The son sighed, thus admitting that his father had understood him.The old man continued to fold and seal his letter, snatching up andthrowing down the wax, the seal, and the paper, with his accustomedrapidity.

　　"What's to be done? She's pretty! I will do everything. Make yourmind easy," said he in abrupt sentences while sealing his letter.

　　Andrew did not speak; he was both pleased and displeased that hisfather understood him. The old man got up and gave the letter to hisson.

　　"Listen!" said he; "don't worry about your wife: what can be doneshall be. Now listen! Give this letter to Michael Ilarionovich.* Ihave written that he should make use of you in proper places and notkeep you long as an adjutant: a bad position! Tell him I rememberand like him. Write and tell me how he receives you. If he is allright- serve him. Nicholas Bolkonski's son need not serve under anyoneif he is in disfavor. Now come here."

　　*Kutuzov.

　　He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half his words, but hisson was accustomed to understand him. He led him to the desk, raisedthe lid, drew out a drawer, and took out an exercise book filledwith his bold, tall, close handwriting.

　　"I shall probably die before you. So remember, these are my memoirs;hand them to the Emperor after my death. Now here is a Lombard bondand a letter; it is a premium for the man who writes a history ofSuvorov's wars. Send it to the Academy. Here are some jottings for youto read when I am gone. You will find them useful."

　　Andrew did not tell his father that he would no doubt live a longtime yet. He felt that he must not say it.

　　"I will do it all, Father," he said.

　　"Well, now, good-by!" He gave his son his hand to kiss, and embracedhim. "Remember this, Prince Andrew, if they kill you it will hurtme, your old father..." he paused unexpectedly, and then in aquerulous voice suddenly shrieked: "but if I hear that you have notbehaved like a son of Nicholas Bolkonski, I shall be ashamed!"

　　"You need not have said that to me, Father," said the son with asmile.

　　The old man was silent.

　　"I also wanted to ask you," continued Prince Andrew, "if I'mkilled and if I have a son, do not let him be taken away from you-as I said yesterday... let him grow up with you.... Please."

　　"Not let the wife have him?" said the old man, and laughed.

　　They stood silent, facing one another. The old man's sharp eyes werefixed straight on his son's. Something twitched in the lower part ofthe old prince's face.

　　"We've said good-by. Go!" he suddenly shouted in a loud, angryvoice, opening his door.

　　"What is it? What?" asked both princesses when they saw for a momentat the door Prince Andrew and the figure of the old man in a whitedressing gown, spectacled and wigless, shouting in an angry voice.

　　Prince Andrew sighed and made no reply.

　　"Well!" he said, turning to his wife.

　　And this "Well!" sounded coldly ironic, as if he were saying,:"Now go through your performance."

　　"Andrew, already!" said the little princess, turning pale andlooking with dismay at her husband.

　　He embraced her. She screamed and fell unconscious on his shoulder.

　　He cautiously released the shoulder she leaned on, looked into herface, and carefully placed her in an easy chair.

　　"Adieu, Mary," said he gently to his sister, taking her by thehand and kissing her, and then he left the room with rapid steps.

　　The little princess lay in the armchair, Mademoiselle Bouriennechafing her temples. Princess Mary, supporting her sister-in-law,still looked with her beautiful eyes full of tears at the door throughwhich Prince Andrew had gone and made the sign of the cross in hisdirection. From the study, like pistol shots, came the frequentsound of the old man angrily blowing his nose. Hardly had PrinceAndrew gone when the study door opened quickly and the stern figure ofthe old man in the white dressing gown looked out.

　　"Gone? That's all right!" said he; and looking angrily at theunconscious little princess, he shook his head reprovingly and slammedthe door.